Chevrolet and River

I stop to take in the curious knobs and buttons inside the fading red Chevrolet. This car, with it’s worn down seats and scratched paint, brings the possible past to the forefront of my brain. What accomplishments, memories, and downfalls brought this Chevy here? It must have been difficult to come by this car in its time. It required work, and once the owner worked hard enough, this car was the key to their life. One can only imagine the grandeur and glory days, two illusions that have obviously come and passed.

I drag my hand along the hoods of several forgotten automobiles then step out into the street. The frozen wind slaps my face then whips my hair back so it streams out behind me. I, an only semi-tame Medusa, run back behind the vintage garage and lean my head against the cold door. I loiter a while, doing the opposite of what I was told, as usual. My feet rest on the slippery sidewalk while the melted snow river rages down to the storm drain below. The freezing sensation in my fingers and toes is uncomfortable, but not unwelcome. Here in the same lonely alleyway, I know that trying to warm my appendages will do no good. I have no choice but to wait out the winter. There is no other way but to sit through the ice, snow, wind, and rain, trying to stay dry. It does not bother me anymore. This frozen discomfort has come to be my home. — by Faith